Patches and Payments
Two of three dens were in full swing again, bringing Lawrence some much needed credits. He only had two problems. His third den still needed new tech and new employees, the others claiming never to work for him again. His second problem was one he saw brooding. His...incident with the gang of brats that had attacked him had not won him any love from the surrounding community and it seemed that the threat to his being increased everyday. He had even begun paying a bodyguard with chems in order to protect him. Even so, he noticed the man eyeing him weird every now and then. He realized too late that he had already tarnished his name. Going back to the ruined den, he was relieved to see a man waiting with some not-so-new cooking gear. “Got what you wanted. You have my creds?” Lawrence nodded to his guard, the man being in possession of the newly acquired payment. With the transaction complete, the man left in a hurry. “Stupid cheap-wads. Is it so hard to have good gear at a low price? This still needs some fixing before it is cook worthy.” Scoffing at his employers bias towards the “lower” people, he joined in the inspection. “Boss, it just needs a few patches and it will hold chemicals. I’ve heard there is someone around here that can do the job.” Lawrence looked at the man like he had held life saving information from him. “Well? Who are they? I need them here now so I can get this den working.” Jotting down a number, the guard handed it over in exchange for an hour break. The phone rang four, five, six times. Lawrence was about to hang up with a curse when suddenly a click sounded, followed by the sound of clattering. In the background, a woman’s voice said: “Fuckin’ shit… Hang on…” A creak, scraping, then the same voice came from the hearing piece. She spoke with a sleepy drawl. “Too fuckin’ early for this shit... Sy here. What’chu want?” Stifling the urge to correct the woman's tone, he did his best to sound civil. “I was given this number in regards to your skill in welding. Is this the right number for such a service?” A snort and a loud yawn later, the woman replied: “Yeah I gotcha. Need it in a hurry? An’ what kind of welding job? Construction or something?” The last word came out ‘somng’. “I have some “cooking” equipment that need patches. Today would be best.” Sounding calm on the phone, to anyone watching him he was anything but. The nerve of these people, always thinking themselves above him! His name should have been known by now and people practically begging him for work. “I can pay the necessary credits for the work, I just need the patches to work.” “I can head out in 30 minutes," the woman said, some creaking sounds in the background. "Text me the address, we’ll figure out a price when I get there. See ya.” And she hung up without waiting for a reply. Lawrence stared angrily at his phone and suppressed an urge to slam it into the wall. Instead he rolled his eyes and sent his location to the last dialed number. If her work wasn't to his satisfaction, or if she gave him more lip, he could always slam her into the wall instead. 40 minutes later, someone banged at the door. Lawrence grunted, got up and yanked the compound door open. In front of him stood a skinny girl with very dark skin, bags under her eyes and a mountain of dreads piled on her head. She was wearing a white tanktop and the pants of a pair of overalls, the sleeves knotted together around her waist. She was carrying a large satchel in one hand. There was something vaguely familiar about her he couldn't place. She placed it for him instead. “Hey, whassup? Didn't know it was you. Lawley was it?” She strode right past him into the hallway, setting her satchel down by the wall and turning to face him. “What, ya don’t ‘member me? Bought some pep off you once or twice. Was good stuff. Helpful, ya dig.” Suddenly she snapped her fingers, which was a feat considering the thick welding gloves she was wearing, and made finger guns at him. “That kind o’ cookin’ equipment! Thought I was gon’ be weldin’ stovetops or some shit!” She laughed hoarsely and looked around the hallway. Lawrence noticed she had a habit of turning her left hand every which way. “Y’know, I could hook you up some automated defense systems 'round here. Bioscanner in the wall, li’l turret in the corner. I’d’a been a smokin’ stain on the floor with ma guts servin’ as a lick o’paint fo’ the wall 'fore I got three paces in, ya dig.” She looked at his bruised face and added: “Look like y’could do with some defense.” “It is Lawrence!” he snapped, and she held up her hands in a ‘my bad’ gesture without seeming remotely sorry. “I can worry about defense later, I just need this pile of scrap to work again. Couple of punks pushed me out and ruined what I had before.” He fumed silently at the indignity he had suffered from those twerps. It didn’t matter now though, they were long gone. He calmed himself again at an idea brewing. “I still have two other dens working right now, could still get you some “help” if you need, any of your friends too.” Sy nodded. “Yeah, I was thinkin’ ‘bout makin’ that part o’the payment. I ain't got no friends in need o’this but I need some shit that gets me stronger, faster ‘n more alert fo’ some special occasions, ya dig.” She inspected the damage to the machine. “Fo’ 200 credits an’ three hits o’pep, I’ll have this sucker runnin’ in half an hour. An’ you know tha’s cheap,” she added before he could protest. "Scratchin’ each other's backs here, ya dig. Plus this sucker’ll make ya back thrice that ‘fore the day’s done.” There was little denying that. Lawrence begrudgingly shook her hand, the thick glove greasy to the touch. As she pulled a face guard from her satchel, he left the girl to her work and instead phoned his bodyguard. After several voicemails, he finally got an answer. “Sup Boss?” The drugs were very evident in the man’s voice, a fact that added to Lawrences growing rage. “Are you fucking kidding me?? I gave you a food break, to go quietly enjoy the slop that you people eat around here and how do you thank me?? When I could have been getting mugged by these drugged out hooligans, you are out on a “Soul trip”. Get the Fuck back here now!!” The man laughed, but the sound of him getting ready were evident. “Sorry Boss, your guys make some good shit and I have a discount. Can’t blame me for wanting to try out what I am guarding.” This time he did toss the phone, cringing instantly at the sound of it clattering to pieces. “Well fuck.” Less than half an hour of cursing, bright lights and intense heat later, Sy called over: “I’m done! C’mon take a look, sucker’s good as new.” That was a bit of an exaggeration; nothing short of time turning back a decade or two would make this machine good as new. But the weld, still pulsing with heat, was solid and smooth, the holes completely filled. Lawrence admired her work, then nodded. “Aight, good. You got-” Sy began, but was interrupted by a distant boom. Unbeknownst to them, the monorail had just been blown up. But ominous sounds were a given in the city, and it was forgotten seconds later. “You got the pep on ya?” she continued, beginning to pack her materials back into the satchel. “Otherwise I can come back later fo’ it. Handy if we can wrap all o’this up right now, though, know’m’sayin’.” Lawrence nodded absent mindedly, his thoughts caught on the noise they had heard. Clearly the woman was not phased, so he decided to let it slide as well. Fumbling for his own supply of drugs, he was about to make an excuse for the credits when his guard finally arrived, fully alert and slightly panting. “About time you imbecile. Give her 250 credits.” Noting that Sy didn’t correct his added tip, he figured that was a good way to start after killing those kids. Scratch each others back. “This is some top-grade stuff, from my own supply. You help me here and there and I can ensure your own supply of it as well.” Taking the credits and drugs, Sy flicked a mock salute at Lawrence and left. “Find some cooks to get in here and start working. This area might be the jackpot I need.” With the guard gone again, Lawrence looked at his still greasy hand. “Filthy worms….. Wouldn’t let any of them scratch my back with a ten foot pole.” Wiping off the muck with a spare cloth he carried with him, he sat down and finally relaxed for the first time in a while. Another hit from his drugs also helped him. “Turning things around. I’ll be back on top again Father. Wait and see.”